holy smokes

Age is all
that you want to let it to be
it can drive you to your knees
be sure
be certain
but be thou not a'feared, good sir!

Age is a heapin' helpin' o' bull-puckey,
if you ask me good sir,
a bad marketing pitch gone awry,
one more bs flier in my inbox
damnable pack of lies.

One day at a time
is all you need to know.
There's always seeds to sow,
forever time to grow
and a little more to know.

An ache, a pain, a clog to contend with
in some or another drain,
really just today's happenstance, if you keep it all
in the right,
the correct,
the accurate and real
frame of mind

Just something happening today.

And tomorrow will be another.

And you really and you truly
are know older
than you allow yourself to buy into that age old bill
of goods
that can creep up on ya
boy.

Amen!

b day

b day
is a g day
a frolic livin' free day

oh the bloody wonder
of it all
when you are four

the world not torn asunder
yet
still nothin' but the morn

my wee one
is a g one
my pretty little belle

a tiny taut tornado
wee one
I love so well

4 but once my lovely
i'll try to make it grand
and for my folly failings
my thoughts i cannot stand
i'll simply say i'm sorry
and march along in hand

i'll be the bestest daddy
father that i can
ill share my love
upon my sleeve
and at times tucked away
but never gone my darling
never run away

4 but once my lovely
i am here with you
for that i'm truly thankful
my heart though scarred is true

and this my piddling missive
i dedicate to you

always for you, miss isabelle, 11/24/09

music

illustration prepared in microsoft powerpoint. i.f.

unbalanced

illustration prepared in microsoft powerpoint. i.f.

motor on . . .

Your automobile needs gasoline to run, among other things.

Your conscious mind is aware of this fact.

Your conscious mind, however, is at war with itself.

"I'm too busy", you whine!

"There's a gas station at mile marker 22, not too far from here", you rationalize.

"Maybe it's just me, but I seem to be on a generally down-hill slope", you fib to yourself.

Sputter, splutter, putt-putt, harumphhhh.

"F _ _ K!"

"Damn the blasted luck", you lie to yourself once again . . . no luck involved here at all, nosiree.

You had every reason to know this would happen. You possess all requisite faculties to ensure that it didn't happen.

But it happened.

Oh well, at least it was a pleasant "downhill" walk to the gas station, right!?!

blur

illustration prepared in microsoft powerpoint.
i.f. 110609

bumfuzzled

u picture a method,
a way to get there,
it all seems so clear,
so bright,
and so fair.

but once you arrive,
it is not what it seemed,
this shining new city,
alas but a dream,
a waypost at best,
on a journey not done,
so many more miles,
painful miles
to be run . . .

skinny

illus. prep. in microsoft powerpoint. naive. i.f.

Praise-worthy Egg McMuffin

Oh so round and so compact,
Warm, uniform and dutifully wrapped.

Comes at the end of a crackling line,
My little old lady, her service divine,
She welcomes our morning vith vigor and verve,
And somehow I sense that she's riddled with nerve,
Yet so sweet as she serves up my breakfast delight,
And her gol-dang pumpkin earrings are so friggin right
(as its All Hallow's eve, eve this good night) ...

Twin arches, you know them,
perhaps your dismay,
but my muffin it marches along in its way,
it knows me,
and I it,
and I'll dutifully say,
there's really no finer repast, don't delay.

You need it, our muffin,
you need it right now,
along with a cup of the finest brown cow
(well really cappuccino's the drink that you need)
but capp just don't rhyme with that line,
don't you see?

So drinking and eating and humming I'll go,
this Friday is off to a grand start,
don't you know.
Munchin' my muffin and slurpin' that mud,
Betcha bottom dollar
I'm not feelin' like crud.
Hell no I say proudly,
I feel downright grand
With a capp,
and a wrap,
and McMuffin in hand!

(Sung to the tune of "Ride of the Valkyries" ... well, not really!?!)

Listen in . . .

sinatra, world on a string
beasties
afi and spinnerette and anberlin
the fuckin' maple leaf rag
queen... nobody knows dragon attack but damn they should
every day i write the book
medicate
up the junction(and pulling mussels of course) and linkin park (trite but what i've done takes you there if you let it...)

and dr john and jon clearly lawd have mercy git me back to n'awlins

iPod wtf

Been gone . . .

. . . so long, so long the day-o.
Now back, on track, no plaque, decay-o.
Holla' back y'all, holla' back . . .
Daddy mac, y'all, daddy mac.
Now you gotta gotta know,
Dat I ain't holding nothin' back, y'all
Jus' spittin' fact y'all,
Ain't holdin' back, ain't holdin' back
Back on track y'all,
holla' back . . .

Fortune's Wind

Peanut butter on wheat,
flying by the seat,
o' my pants,
yes in dee dee . . .

A terrible,
horrible,
fantastical
run on screee . . .

Leeward me hardies,
sail on 'til morn,

Grasp at your life lad,
from the day that you're born.

Parenthetical rations,
my heart, a bastion,
my rapier-like wit,
never was in fashion.

Polyp so plump,
thank gawd for your rump,
sittin' down hard now,
ain't no cause to jump.

Pray on your knees,
thanks those birds,
and those bees,
shuffle along son,
and just say, "check, please!"

Traditions (during the collapse)

A stone grotto,
candles flickering in the light breeze,
sun-dappled sidewalk and comments,
not whispered exactly,
but comfortable low and smooth.

A head is bowed, a brief recollection,
for one who has fallen,
who'd gone this way before.

Familiar places.
Thundering unity.
Blue and gold and passion,
not hard-won,
but honor bound and
inevitable.

Yet.

An uneasy tension fills the air.
Do they feel it?
Everything is
at once the same
and forever altered.

A shadow falls.
Does any one (else) see it?

Fourth and goal . . .

(Dis)connected

The river flows, and the cork bobs in the current.
Perhaps an eddy, from time to time, provides temporary respite.
Reflection, for a moment.
And then we flow onward.

Perhaps the long rest that comes later,
is the time to analyze.
The time to consider.
The time to appreciate,
in a way that is more than skin deep.

Bobbing and weaving,
this tapestry of life.

A simple prayer,
that I knot come unraveled.

Winter

Gray and grainy, not smooth, not bright, nor right!

Hearty and cool, for my soul a school,
lessons best learned on the run.
A dazzling sheen, jagged ice that is mean,
and distrustful of all that is right.

A thin sheen of fog dangles over the plane,
tiny world of mystical mist,
blue and gray and cool and epic,
this world of oncoming night.

A blade that is hard,
and cutting,
ruthless and mirthless and might,
grinds as it cuts and in building up ruts
makes the journey, the journey to right.

Building speed,
riding steed,
breath so cold that the billowing need
is fullfilled by an air
that is barely just there,
headlong rush refrescante'indeed,
and a stop so abrupt,
some warmth in a cup,
and nod off to dream like a seed.

A field to tend,
a world without end,
rest now, linger, so as always to mend . . .

Eliminate the conscious mind

Do that, and everything should be alright.

When we over think, over analyze, especially as we are in the midst of an activity (like life, for example) then we gum up the works. We pull ourselves rudely out of the flow.

When we disengage the conscious mind, we begin to feel the right, natural progression of events that is there, available for all of us, if only we'll simply "be", taking the ride as it was intended.

My hands shake at times. Not really advancing age, I don't think, because they've done so for years, even when I was a young boy. But now, when I focus on breathing, deep into the lungs, into the belly, breath all the way down into my toes as I was once instructed in Tae Kwon Do, then my body calms, the shakes dissipate and disappear. As I enter the flow, the battle between my conscious mind and the inevitability of life as it really is ceases, and that battle is, I believe, the source of the tension that runs riot in my nervous system, shaking my hands.

The universe is infused with energy . . . check that . . . the universe IS energy. Breath that in all the way down to your toes and I think you will like the result, brothers and sisters!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yeah, right! Happy? Well, I guess things could be tremendously worse (no, I don't guess, I know) but what is there to celebrate about hitting 45? Nothing in my book. The celebration shouldn't be about any one particular day, it should be about every day. Another day above ground as they say. A day to try and do a little good in the world, have a little fun, and do the best job you can (piss-poor though it may be) showing those that you love just how much you really do love them

I've been reading a little Dalai Llama of late, and he talks alot about achieving peace and harmony within oneself, hopefully to project that outward onto the world.

I'll set that aside as my birthday gift to me on this, the 45th anniversary of my birth.

Colds, and other Evil in this World

I have a cold.

Head filled. Sinuses pulsing. Eyes watering.

Down in my chest now. The wracking cough. Torso so tight it feels like it may split open at the next sneeze.

Lethargy. A generally dismal outlook.

If I could, I would wage all out war against the virus. Damnable thing, wreaking such repetitive havoc in the lives of most every creature to ever grace the face of the earth. Vile bloodsucker. Find your own way in the world, damnable (brainfart here - - insert the word for someone who lives off of, and at the expense of another).

But things could be worse. At lease I get to take Nyquil and sleep for 12 hours!

Where we're headed (maybe?)

I'm writing this for the express purpose of reading it in one year.

I went to college back in the day, and based on little more than a funny professor or two, I chose Economics for my degree. So I suppose I'm an amateur economist, whatever in the hell that is. Oh, and I like Walter E. Williams too!

So anyway, the US Government has announced something in excess of $7 trillion in "bailout" spending in recent weeks and months. Money to bail out greedy, arrogant, and apparently pretty dense people in the financial world who've made a gigantic mess, mostly with an overdose of debt and a miasma (sp? meaning?) of uber-complex investment securities supported by (yah . . . right!) layer upon layer of that same debt. So if Joe Lunchbox misses a payment, a whole lineup of people get screwed. It's like one of those department store mirror doohickeys, where you see yourself over and over and over again out seemingly to infinity. Every last one of those folks in the mirror is screwed by this shell game ponzi scheme cooked up by "elite" members of our society.

I remember being in High School, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd, thinking I should get my kicks in life from nature, being outdoors, good friends and a frosty ale or two every once and again. How friggin' right I was.

So anyway, my goal here today is to prognosticate a massive bout of inflation and rising interest rates. I think our dollar is likely to be worth next to nothing one year from today. Massive disruption in our lives. Quite literally, a collapse of everything we've relied upon throughout my post-war baby boom life.

I hope to hell I'm wrong.

My kids don't deserve it. Hell, I don't deserve it . . . maybe I live a tiny bit beyond my means, but my balance sheet is still in the positive. I socked away for the future, man, and now this crap is chiseling away at that ol' nestegg. Really quite depressing!

I hope to hell I'm wrong.

But I'm afraid that I'm right. I learned in school that you can't just print money and not drum up inflation. It's simple supply and demand. Too many dollars chasing a fixed pot of goods and services means it will take more and more of those dollars to buy any particular good or service. Pretty simple really. With a little effort, a child could understand it.

But apparently, the "adults", they don't.

See ya in a year . . . if I can still afford to power up the PC, that is . . .

The 10 millionth rain poem ... (you win a prize!)

There's a rolling quality to it,
fluidity really (duh!?!)
rolling from the sky, filling a million little voids.

Eventful, this drizzle, filling the day with purpose,
not vapid like that "pretty" sunny day.

The sound of it confusing, soothing if you let it be, but . . .
Calling out to you to move, be fluid too . . .
There is a flow in life, a ride you'd best take,
if you want it all that is.

Murky, daybreak never comes,
a Welsh countryside inside my mind
deep and distant drums.

Alas, with the flow I'll go now,
with every pelting drop,
with every trickle passing,
it's life that rolls like thunder,
life that never stops.